


A Matter of Loyalty

by that_possum_guy



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book/Movie: Prince Caspian, Gen, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25942204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_possum_guy/pseuds/that_possum_guy
Summary: Prince Caspian has always been an outgoing and curious child, and has grown into a caring and considerate young man. It is hard not to like him. But his uncle wants him dead.-In which Glozelle finds he cannot kill Caspian in his bedroom, instead of much later on a battlefield.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	A Matter of Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

> I believe that Glozelle might hold quite a (platonic) fondness for Caspian if you let him.  
> This fic is an exploration of how the story might go if he did.

His footsteps echo through the hallway. The dagger hangs heavy at his hip. His gait is sluggish, as though the weapon is dragging him down, when in reality it cannot have that great a weight.  
This walk had never seemed so long to him before, but still, he presses on. He cannot stop. The words will not leave his head.

“You know your orders.”

Oh yes, he does. How could he ever forget them?

They'd come unexpected. It had been a while since Miraz had last given him a task like this. No... He's never had a task like this one. Never concerning someone he knows so well.

These orders are so unlike any he's heard before, in fact, that, when Miraz had first uttered them, he'd nearly questioned them. His mouth had already stood open, his tongue getting ready to form the words, but at Miraz's glare he'd quickly backed down and instead said what he always said: “Yes, my lord.”

When he'd been alone again, his heart had been pounding. He'd never had so close a brush with disagreeing with Miraz, and he knew what happened to people who dared do that. He was often enough the one to make it happen, after all. The fear of it sent a shiver up his spine. He always agrees with Miraz. Always.

When he reaches the door, he doesn't hesitate for an instant; simply opens it and steps inside on silent feet.

Miraz had given him permission to take some of his men with him, but he'd decided against it. The fewer people knew, the better. This needn't be on anyone's conscience but his own.

He'd contemplated shooting him. He wouldn't need to get close then, wouldn't have to look at him. But he'd decided against that, too. A crossbow would be too inexact, especially if he couldn't see his target clearly. If the bolt missed or even hit a non-vital spot, he might wake up, and then he might scream. He mustn't scream.  
No, ranged weapons hold too much risk. It would have to be a melee one, something to carry out the job quickly and quietly. A dagger it was, then.

The bed curtains aren't all the way drawn. Moonlight is shining on the prince's face; he's lying on his back. _Good._ That makes it easier.

He moves closer, matching his breathing to his target's almost instinctively. He has a deep sleep; doesn't so much as flinch.  
Cautiously, he pulls the dagger from its sheath and positions it over the prince's chest, between two specific ribs. One stab now and his heart will cease its rhythm.

Glozelle keeps breathing. He holds the dagger in its place, but he does not push down on it. It slowly rises and falls with Prince Caspian's breaths, just the tip of it touching his shirt. _One stab now. Now._ Glozelle's grip tightens. _Do it. One push and it is done.  
_ He turns his eyes to the prince's face. He looks so peaceful, so calm. He does not realize the danger he is in.

Glozelle has seen his victims' faces before. The ones who were awake had been contorted with fear, or with anger. The ones who were not had seemed indifferent to all things around them. But for the life of him, Glozelle cannot remember any of them looking this peaceful.

He is asleep. It should be easier.  
 _Why is it so much harder?_

Because it is Caspian. Because he's known him since he was a little boy, because he saw him grow up. Because he's sparred with him, because he helped teach him how to fight with a sword. Because, throughout all his years of service, it has been drilled into him that protecting the royal family is to be his utmost priority. Because... Because he is fond of him.

But none of that matters now, because Miraz wants him dead. One does not disobey Miraz.

Glozelle clenches his teeth, glaring at the dagger. His breaths and arm muscles both are shaky.  
One stab now, and he'll have done what he came here for. One stab and it will be over with. One stab and Prince Caspian is dead.

With a strong inhale, Glozelle pulls back the dagger and shakes the prince's shoulder instead. “My prince.”

He groans and turns, but does not wake immediately.

Glozelle shakes harder. “My prince!”

At last, Caspian opens his eyes, blinking up at him blearily. “General...?”

“My prince, you must go!”

The confusion on Caspian's face only grows, and he pulls himself into a sitting position.  
Rubbing at his eyes, he asks: “Did something happen?”

Before Glozelle has a chance to explain, the _click_ of the opening door sounds behind him. He whirls around, positioning himself in front of Caspian protectively, pointing his dagger at the newcomer.

“Who are you?”, he demands of the hooded figure in the doorway. For one long, tense moment he stares at them. He does not truly believe that Miraz sent someone after him, but he would not put it past him, either.

Eventually, the intruder slowly reaches up and pulls back his hood.

With a sigh of relief and recognition, Glozelle lets himself sink onto the bed. The young prince's teacher would not do Caspian harm.

Dr Cornelius silently pulls the door closed behind him without taking his gaze off the general, only glancing at his pupil for a moment to say: “Get up.”

It is an order, delivered in a tone Glozelle would not have expected the jovial old man to have in him.

Instead of following it, however, Caspian simply looks back and forth between the two men, bewildered. “Can someone please explain what's going on?!”

Glozelle opens his mouth to comply, then realizes he lacks the words to do so. He cannot bring himself to tell the prince _why_ he is in his room, so he merely grimaces and turns his head away.  
To Glozelle's surprise, it is the boy's teacher who speaks next.

“Your aunt has given birth”, are his startlingly harsh words. “To a son.”

Glozelle gapes at him. How could he have known-?

A gasp makes him spin back around. Caspian has gone pale as a sheet.

Glozelle reaches out for him instinctively, wishing to reassure him, but Caspian pulls away with a small yelp. His gaze falls to the dagger Glozelle is still clasping, and he begins frantically scrambling backwards.

“No!”, Glozelle attempts to say, though it comes out as no more than a whisper, and holds his free hand out to the prince.

Caspian jumps to his feet off the other side of the bed, ignoring the offer. He looks from the weapon to his teacher, then back to Glozelle. The old scholar's words seem to have been all the explanation he needed.

Glozelle successfully fights off the urge to hang his head, but cannot bring himself to meet the prince's eyes.  
Caspian's chest rises and falls heavily, as though he is exhausted, or scared. Glozelle bites the inside of his cheek, hating that he brought about such feelings in him.

“So it's true, then?”, Caspian asks, gaze trained somewhere over Glozelle's shoulder.

“I'm afraid so, my prince”, comes Dr Cornelius' somber reply.

Caspian swallows visibly. Then his attention returns to Glozelle. “My uncle sent you here?” His voice is doubtful and unsteady.

“Yes”, Glozelle confirms. His tongue feels dry and too big for his mouth.

Caspian goes unnaturally still. “To kill me?”, he presses on.

For the second time that night, Glozelle opens his mouth only to find that no words will come out. He closes it again, attempts once more to answer, but cannot even bring forth a croak. He settles for a nod, avoiding the prince's eyes more intently than before.

Caspian sways where he stands, slumping backwards against the wall. Slowly, he slides down until he's sitting on the ground, staring off into space.

Glozelle's heart aches at the boy's distraught expression. Again he wishes he could comfort the prince, and reaches out for him. His hand comes down empty on the mattress. The distance between them is too great, not just spatially. Glozelle sighs gloomily.

He does not know what he could say that could give solace to the prince, either. He tries to imagine what he must be feeling, and fails.  
Glozelle's own father is stern, but loving. Glozelle has no doubt that he could never harm a bone in his body. What must it feel like to Caspian, then, that the man who raised him ordered his death?

Stars, Glozelle can scarcely tell how he himself feels about that order. He's always known Miraz as an ambitious man; Lord knows he's helped him get rid of his share of rivals. But his own nephew...? Glozelle had not expected that.  
He furrows his brows. Perhaps he should have.

Miraz never did like it when the castle staff got close to Caspian. Glozelle always believed the reason for that to be that such relations were unbeseeming for royalty, but now...  
He remembers the fear on the chambermaids' faces whenever they crossed Caspian's path, recalls kitchen boys scurrying out of his way, and sees them with new eyes.  
What _is_ the punishment for being Caspian's friend?

“Then why didn't you?”

„Hmm?” Glozelle shakes his head to clear it of his musings, and turns around.

Dr Cornelius is looking at him with a steely gaze. “Why didn't you kill him, if that is what you came here to do?”  
He glares at the weapon in Glozelle's hand pointedly.

Glozelle follows his gaze, and turns the dagger over, slowly. He frowns. _Why. Why...?  
_ Eventually, he looks up and earnestly says: “I couldn't.”

The expression on the doctor's face is... not one of disbelief, but not one of understanding, either.

“I could not bring myself to!”, Glozelle adds, half-shrugging. He turns around.

Caspian is still sitting on the floor, his arms around his knees, but he is listening intently.

Glozelle exhales quietly. How can he make them understand what he can hardly explain to himself? He tries again: “When- When you were lying there, asleep, I- I could not harm you.”  
The form of address is unusually familiar, but anything else seems to him too distant, inappropriate, and Caspian does not object.

_I could see you,_ Glozelle does not say, _not as you are now, but as you were. A gap-toothed boy smearing a smudge of dirt across his face after slipping off to the castle gardens; grinning with stuffed cheeks after sneaking some cake from the kitchens; trying to hold a practice sword much too big for him and refusing to put it down; laughter like bells and a smile as bright as the sun.  
_ He nearly smiles, shakes his head, swallows thickly. Frowns, glancing at his prince.

“On the day I entered your family's service,” he continues, “I swore an oath to always carry out your orders, and protect you all. Today, I was forced to break that oath, one way or the other.”  
A shadow passes over Glozelle's face, and he goes on, more quietly: “I did not yet know which it would be when I entered this room.”

_Do you regret it?_ flashes across his mind, immediately followed by _No_. He nods resolvedly.

“I do not regret which one it ultimately was”, he adds out loud. Finally, he feels the strength to fully face Caspian's gaze. “My prince, there is nothing your uncle could say or do that could move me to hurt you. I will not do so.”

For a moment, a stunned, thoughtful silence hangs in the room. Glozelle's heart hammers against his ribs. He had not noticed it pick up speed; now it almost leaves him light-headed.

Caspian moves his hands to his sides and slowly pushes himself up off the ground. “Will you swear it again?”

Glozelle tilts his head. “Pardon, my prince?”

“Will you swear to me”, Caspian clarifies, “that you will protect me in whichever way you can, despite what my uncle has asked of you? That you'll protect me from _him_.”

Glozelle's eyes widen. He did not expect this, this immediate forgiveness and show of trust, after sneaking into his room ready to stab him in his sleep. It's a strong reminder that the young prince has a big heart; perhaps at times even too open and too forgiving, but Glozelle appreciates him for it, and it makes him want to protect Caspian all the more.

“Yes!”, he declares. “Yes, I will.” He straightens his back and clears his throat.  
“I, Glozelle, son of Scythley, shall protect you, Prince Caspian, tenth of your name - with all I have, against any threat, wherever it may come from, for as long as I live.”  
He sheathes the dagger and puts his hand over his heart. “This I swear.”  
He dips into a slight bow from his sitting position.

Caspian mirrors his hand gesture, sighing with relief.  
“So it shall be”, he says, validating Glozelle's impromptu oath, thus making it binding, then adds an uncustomary: “Thank you.”  
Then he knits his brows together and pulls his lips into a thin line. He puts a hand to his chin. Eventually, he says: “General, I release you from your previous oath. My uncle gave you no choice but to break it. You shall receive no punishment for that.”

Glozelle gapes at him, then quickly closes his mouth and bows even deeper than before.  
“My unending gratitude for your mercy, my prince.”  
He knows it is meant to be a perfunctory pardon, as Caspian is currently in no position to punish him, and wonders if the prince is aware of precisely what he has just done.

“Now that that is cleared up”, says Dr Cornelius, and Glozelle turns around, having momentarily forgotten he is there, “you really must get out of here, my prince.”

“Yes!” Glozelle nods and gets up, taking nearly two steps towards the door before faltering and eyeing it warily.

“General”, the doctor says, “does anyone else know you are here, and what for?”

Glozelle shakes his head. “I did not tell anyone. I doubt Miraz did, either. But...” He looks back at the door. “I cannot be certain.”

Dr Cornelius makes an affirmative noise before going to the other side of the room.

Glozelle keeps standing watch while the other man opens the closet and rummages through it.

“Put this on”, he says, and Glozelle turns around to see Caspian pulling a shirt on over his nightclothes.

Glozelle tilts his head. “I could escort him out”, he offers.

“No.” Dr Cornelius makes a dismissive gesture. “Someone would stop you.”

“Not fully”, Glozelle counters, knowing the men in the castle would let him go with little explanation.

Cornelius is not convinced. “And if someone alerts Miraz?”

Glozelle gulps and balls his fists. “I could tell him I am taking the prince out to... do it.”

The doctor gives him a skeptical look. “And would he believe you?”

Glozelle averts his eyes and shrugs. “He... might.”  
In actuality, he knows the chances for that are slim. He is aware that he’s useless at deception, and Miraz is a master of reading people. But he does not have a better plan.

Dr Cornelius wags his head with the ghost of a mirthful smile. “That will not be necessary”, he says, and steps into the wardrobe.

Glozelle blinks in confusion. _What does he expect to find in there? A land for the prince to flee to?_

Then Caspian gasps softly, and when Glozelle comes closer he sees, instead of the wardrobe's back wall, a passageway. _Of course. All royal sleeping chambers would have secret passages._

He watches Caspian, who is hesitating at the wardrobe door, thoughtfully.  
“I could tell him I've done it”, he suggests. “To free you from his attention, my prince.”

Caspian looks at him consideringly, but his teacher disagrees: “No. There is no way for the prince to sneak out of the castle unnoticed. He will have to run, and Miraz will know you have lied.”  
He directs his gaze back at Glozelle. “And even if the prince could disappear without a trace, his uncle would want a body, would he not? Proof that it is done.” He shoots a questioning look at Glozelle, who nods hesitantly.  
Cornelius returns the gesture. “See. So until you have a pig's heart or something of the sort to present to him, you are better off telling him the prince has escaped. It would be beneficial to us if he does not know you...” He trails off, before finishing the sentence with: “...have decided to protect Prince Caspian.”

Glozelle sighs in relief that the professor did not choose to say “betrayed him”. He does not regret what he's done, but that does not mean he is not afraid of Miraz's retribution.  
He nods firmly. “Understood.”

Caspian has not moved still. “Do I need to pack anything?”, he asks uncertainly.

Dr Cornelius shakes his head. “I have put some supplies into your saddle bags, my prince.” He beckons him to follow him into the passage. “You will need to hurry once you're out of the stables. Your uncle will no doubt send someone after you.” He looks at Glozelle. “Will it be you?”

“Most likely”, Glozelle confirms.

Cornelius nods. “Make sure he gets away. Do not let him be caught.”

Glozelle hesitates, takes half a step back. “I cannot harm my own men”, he says, hoping they'll understand.

“That won't be necessary”, Cornelius says placatingly. “Just stall them. Lead them on false tracks. Buy the prince time to get away.”

Glozelle thinks the words over. “Alright”, he finally agrees. “I can do that.”

The professor nods, then says: “Come, my prince.”

Glozelle watches them go.  
Just as Caspian is about to close the wardrobe door behind them, he exclaims: “Wait!”

They both turn around.

Glozelle walks up to them, takes the sheath from his belt and presses it into Caspian's hand. “Here, take this. You may need it more than I do.”

The prince looks at the gift, then back at the general. “Thank you.”

Glozelle nods. “Go. Go!”  
He ushers him through, and closes the wardrobe. Then he turns around, leans against it, closes his eyes and just breathes for a moment.

When he leaves this room, he will have to run. Miraz would expect it of him, to let him know as fast as he can that Caspian is gone. Maybe he can get away with mere hurrying…

_He won't ask. He won't ask! He'll be too busy worrying about getting Caspian back. He'll send you after him, and you'll make sure he gets away. It's that simple.  
_ He swallows. _And if he kills you after…_ , for the failure to fulfill his task might get him killed just like a betrayal would…  
He thinks of that young boy again, that laughter, that smile. _...that'll have been worth it, too.  
_ He straightens up.

**Author's Note:**

> “I love Caspian more than I fear you.” - Glozelle to Miraz in this fic
> 
> This was originally planned to be a one-shot, but I really like this 'verse and would like to write more in it.  
> If you'd like to read more, please leave a comment and let me know! Knowing someone's actually interested in reading my stuff is hugely motivating.
> 
> And if you have ideas for what might happen or would like to chat with me about mine, come hit me up at my tumblr: @astargatelover
> 
> (I also have two other Prince Caspian-rewrites more-or-less in the works. I'll gladly talk about them if anyone wants to hear about them.)


End file.
